UC Op: Bat Crossing
by starrywave
Summary: Things are always interesting when you’re in the Bat clan, but what happens when things become weird by Bat standards? In Photon’s world, 'sick building syndrome' and 'disgruntled customer' have totally different meanings. A BatmanPhoton's Crossing fi


**Title:** UC Op: Bat Crossing

**Author:** starrywave

**Part:** 1 of 1

**Rating:** PG-13 for language

**Summary:** Things are always interesting when you're part of the Bat clan, but what happens when things become downright weird by Bat standards? In Photon's world, "sick building syndrome" and "disgruntled customer" have totally different meanings.

**Disclaimer:** All characters in this piece are owned by DC Comics and Gaeriel Mallory. This is an original piece that does not intend to infringe upon their copyright and is strictly a non-profit endeavour. All DC Comic characters are used without permission. Permission has been obtained from Gaeriel Mallory to use Photon's Crossing and all associated characters. Characters and stories are in no way affiliated with, approved of or endorsed by DC Comics. All other materials copyright by starrywave, 2003. All rights reserved. If you wish to post this piece at some other website, please inform me first at the e-mail address given above. Constructive criticism and reviews are appreciated. Personal criticisms should be sent to the address above. Thank you.

**Author's Notes: **This story is set in the original universe Photon's Crossing created by Gaeriel Mallory.

**My thanks to:** Gaeriel Mallory, who was not only kind enough to let me play in her yard, but also beta-read for me.

* * *

UC Op: Bat Crossing

By starrywave, September 22, 2003

I like to think of myself as a pretty hard-boiled guy. Growing up a kid of the Bat, facing the weirdos of Gotham—Joker, Two-Face, Poison Ivy—you kinda hafta be. And then moving to Blüdhaven, Gotham's ugly sister city... well, that's just a whole different level of grim. And I can say, with all honesty, that I've seen some things that are out of this world. For example, growing up in hero-worship of a Kryptonian and nearly marrying an alien princess. So I guess I had some right in thinking I had seen most of the things this world, and the next couple of worlds, had to offer. And then I went on an undercover gig that got… interesting.

I was almost done with my nightly patrol of the 'Haven when Babs called me on the Oracle line.

"Hey Oracle, what's up?"

"Stop by when you can, Nightwing. Something has come up. Oracle out."

I was startled. Not by the sudden cut-off, which was common enough due to her high volume of communications, but rather by her message. If it were urgent, she would've told me over the link. Asking me to drop by professionally was… an anomaly. Like a friggin' "planet moving out of its orbit" anomaly.

Blüdhaven was quiet that night by Blüdhaven standards, so I finished my patrol, got on my bike, and made quick work of the trip to Gotham. Babs must've been tracking me because I had no sooner swung up to the roof of the opposite building—I'm smart enough not to actually land on her building—when she chimed into my comm link again.

"My security grid is going down in 30 seconds and will be down for 15. Get your tail in here."

Babs putting down her security grid? That was a "the universe just belched and I think we are now in Andromeda" anomaly. I didn't ask any questions and just followed her orders, and in less than a minute, I was standing in her living room, the cowl peeled back and looking intently at the redhead in front of me.

"Okay Barbara, what's up?"

"Matches is going undercover the day after tomorrow in a place that I can't track."

I raised an eyebrow. "Where is this place and what do you mean, 'you can't track'?"

She threw up her hands in frustration. "It's a tavern called Photon's Crossing in LA and I mean exactly that! I can't find it! It's supposedly in Los Angeles, but I've run a search as far back as the records go and there's never been a place called that. I've tried it from every possible angle, but according to my computer, it doesn't exist!"

I cut in while she took a breath. "So Bruce is in LA on a case?"

"Yes."

"Since when?"

"Monday of this week."

"Fill me in."

"About a month back, an old friend of Bruce's, Will Carter, approached him for some help. Apparently, Bruce and Carter went back to university days. After university, Carter went to law school, passed his bar, and went to work in the firm Longfellow and Bitterman. He worked his way up and is now corporate counsel for the LA branch. About a month ago, he got wind of a number of complaints being filed against a manager, an..." she skimmed through a file on her desk, "Andrew MacIntyre."

"What sort of complaints?"

"Things ranging from condescending behaviour to sexual harassment to unpaid overtime. Also, there's been a slight decrease in reported profit, ranging from two to ten thousand a month for the past year or so. At first, Carter was willing to place blame on the slowing economy, but when the economy picked back up, he got suspicious."

"Nice guy. How long had these complaints been filed?"

"Close to six months, but every time someone filed a complaint that person would be let go within a week, before the complaint had time to be processed and put in the databank. Then, a month ago, an executive..." again, she flipped through her notes, "Elizabeth Jenkins resigned and disappeared." She handed me a photo of the woman.

"So Carter went to Bruce, asked for help. Bruce got interested, managed to track her to this place called Photon's Crossing and asked you for info, but you couldn't find it."

"Right."

"So he flew to LA as a favour to a friend, managed to find the place, and now wants to go undercover."

"Right."

"And you're sure it's called Photon's Crossing?"

"That's the name Bruce gave me. He said the name was hanging on a carved wooden sign above the door."

"What about the address?"

"There wasn't an address, but the location he gave me is supposed to be a building that burned down 30 years ago."

"So why don't you just trace him through the comm link?"

"I'm not sure if the comm link is going to work."

"What do you mean? We designed that thing so the only thing that could stop it was lead lining at least two feet thick!"

"I know how we designed it!" she snapped. "But I also know what happened when I tried tracking the trace!"

"What happened?"

"When I couldn't find anything on this tavern, I asked Tim to take a look at the stuff I'd managed to accumulate. He said he'd heard of the place before but wasn't sure exactly where or what it was. Took him about a week of snooping, but he overheard his English teacher at Brentwood talking about meeting someone at a place called Photon's one night. Obviously, it couldn't be the same Photon's Crossing, but we thought that maybe it was a chain place or somehow related.

"He followed the teacher Sawyer to Photon's that night as Al and dropped a trace in his hat as he walked in the door. The trace worked fine until the guy walked into the building proper. Then, it just disappeared off the screen! I thought maybe the trace had malfunctioned or been found, but then Tim managed to pick it up when Sawyer walked out."

"And the trace was working when he walked out."

"That's not all. The next day, Tim managed to lift Sawyer's schedule book and got some names of who the teacher met with, a John Watson, Alistair Monroe, and Henry Oreville. Only person I could trace find was Alistair Monroe. But there was no possible way these two men could have met!"

"Why not?"

"Dick, Alistair Monroe was in London last night. He's never been out of Europe his entire life!"

"Video conferencing?" I suggested.

"I would've been able to find records of their electricity and phone bills. Especially now that I have their address."

"Oh man..." This was getting more convoluted than ever. I wondered briefly if I had somehow inhaled some of Scarecrow's fear gas or gotten carded by Jervis Tetch before remembering they had both been in Arkham for the past two years. "You sure you got the right guy? Maybe an alias?"

"I checked it all out. Everything. It took me three days to look at all the leads, and only this one panned out."

"Oh man…"

"It gets better. Two days after I lost the signal, I got a call from the JLA asking me how I managed to put a trace in intergalactic space."

"What?!"

"Exactly. I asked them to send the data and asked them if they had pinpointed a location. They said they had tried, but were unable to. It was almost as if the signal was echoing around a bubble in space. And it was my trace. The one I had Tim put on Sawyer."

"But that's not possible."

"I know! Somehow, the pub in Gotham, the pub in LA, and some pub in London are connected. And there's probably something to do with intergalactic space travel too. And I have no way of finding out how!"

She turned back to her computers as one of them chimed and began hammering away at a keyboard. I absently massaged her stiff shoulders and let my brain run through the possibilities. Fifteen minutes later, when she turned her attention back to me, I had formulated a plan.

"How about this, Babs. I'm gonna call in to the precinct and get a couple of days off. I'll go check out the Photon's Crossing here tonight, then book me on a flight to LA for tomorrow morning. I'll fly to LA and be Matches' backup as Robbie."

"You're being sensible for once, Shortpants." She gave me the smile I'd hadn't seen all night. Tapping a few minutes more at her computer, she announced, "You're booked for an 8.20 a.m. flight to LA, arriving in LAX at 11.30 a.m., West Coast time."

"You're the best, Babs," I smiled, kissing the top of her head. I yawned and stretched. "I'll head back to Gotham, get a couple of hours of shut-eye, then go to work." I turned to go.

"Not so fast, Grayson." Babs rolled up behind me and poked me in the back. "It's 4.00 a.m. and you've been up since 6.30 yesterday morning. You're not going out driving on my watch. You're going to shower, snooze here for two hours," she held up a hand as I opened my mouth to protest, "I'll wake you up in time for your 0800 shift; tomorrow's Sunday, so there's not going to be too much traffic."

During her rail, she had managed to manoeuvre me into her hallway and I had no choice but to give in. "Only if you join me," I said, giving her my best daredevil grin. "You haven't been getting much sleep either, if I'm reading the bags under your eyes correctly."

Babs' alarm went off at 6.00 the next morning and, as she promised, I got to my 8.00 a.m. shift on time. I asked for, and was granted, a week off for "personal reasons," and had to hear Amy grumble for the rest of the day about her rookie ditching her.

I cased out the address that Tim gave me for a couple of hours before changing and going in as Robbie Malone.

"Oracle, I'm in," I spoke quietly into the tiny receiver in my collar. Only static answered. "Oracle? Oracle?" I cursed inwardly. She was right about the comm link not working. I was going to have to wing it. At least we had prepped for something like this happening, so if I wasn't out in four hours, Tim would come in.

A few heads turned my way as I walked in and slid into a stool behind the varnished counter. This didn't seem to be too seedy of a place; if anything, it was a little quaint. The long oak counter, dark with years of spilled drinks, reflected the diffuse light that seemed to radiate from everywhere. I looked around for light sources and found none. That was... odd. I wondered about that and filed the fact away in my mind. The floor was passably clean. The man behind the counter had a head full of hair red enough to rival Babs'.

"What will you have, stranger?" he asked in a Londoner accent, flashing a smile at me. The open silk shirt and tight leather pants he wore struck me as being rather odd, but, this being Gotham, I noticed it, but paid it no further mind.

"You have any Corona?" I ground out in my gritty "Robbie Malone" voice.

"We have ale, if that's what you're asking for."

I stared at him for a moment before saying, "Sure."

Grabbing a metal tankard, he filled it with an amber liquid from a wooden keg. He slid it over to me, then moved on to the next customer who had walked in.

This place was getting weirder by the minute. A British barkeeper, looking like he had just gotten off the set of a Robin Hood movie, didn't know what Corona was, just poured ale into a tankard, and was working in a place lit... somehow. The place only got stranger from then on out.

I sat there at the counter, pretending to take sips from my tankard, watching customers wander in. Each of them was a little bit odd. It wasn't the dude who looked like a Klingon from Star Trek that worried me. Or the fellow looking like he just stepped out of a B-rated pirate movie. I'll have to admit, though, the three-headed cat-like creature in the corner did give me the willies.

There was a musician in one of the booths who looked like she came out of the Victorian era. She dressed like a boy with breeches and a cap that barely hid her brown hair, but with a waist that tiny, there was no mistaking her as a product of the corset. In between sets on her fiddle, she would wander over to the counter and chat with the barkeeper. I managed to catch their names—the barkeeper was Louis and the musician Anne—and something about an Amazon Samm being ill.

The night only got more confusing after that and I just tossed my ear in and out of conversations over the music, which was quite good, throughout the immediate area. Finally, I decided to call it quits after a blue-furred humanoid creature with the head of a lion and a prehensile tail walked in. My four hours were up and it was nearly closing time anyway. I paid for my (untouched) tankard—Louis looked at my bills rather oddly as though he didn't know what to do with them—and then wandered over to where Anne was finishing up her last reel.

"You've got quite an ear there, Miss…" I smiled and turned up the charm.

"Doyle," she supplied with a polished British accent. "I am glad you found my music enjoyable."

"Do you play this joint every night, Miss Doyle?" She looked at me blankly. "Do you play here every night?" I clarified.

"Why, yes."

"I'm going to have to come back sometime and hear you play again then." I let my grin broaden.

"That is very flattering, Mr... I'm afraid we've not been introduced. You are?"

"The name's Robbie Malone."

"That is very flattering, Mr. Malone. I'm afraid, however, that I have an ill friend waiting for me and I really must be getting back to her. Good evening, Mr. Malone." She excused herself and managed to slip away and up the steps I had noticed before.

I was given a rather curt "Good evening" by Louis on my way out, then I nearly ran into Tim dressed as Alvin Draper standing in the doorway.

"Hey cuz," he said, more for the benefit of the hoodlums that I could see hiding in the shadows two doors down. "Whatcha doin' hanging here?" We kept up the small talk until we ended up in a small alley where I had parked my bike and where Tim had stashed his Redbird. In a moment, I had changed out of the Robbie outfit and was sitting on my bike in by blues and blacks. I touched the comm link in my ear.

"Oracle, I'm out."

"Good." I could hear the relief even through her voice synthesizer. "I was just about to send Robin after you."

"I know. I ran into him. I'm going to head back to brief you on what went down tonight, but let me just tell you, we've got a weird place on our hands."

"As if I didn't know already. I'll wait for your briefing. Oracle out."

Tim had already traded his Al gig for the red and green of Robin, so we both revved up our bikes and went off our separate ways: Robin back to his patrol, me to the Clocktower to visit and brief Babs.

Babs again brought down the security grid when I got there, and within a couple of minutes, I was filling her in on Photon's Crossing.

"It was crazy, Babs." I shook my head. "It was like a bar for B-rated sci-fi movie extras and rejects. The barkeeper didn't know what Corona was, the musician spoke in Victorian English, there were a couple of guys in there that looked like Tolkien's elves and dwarfs, someone who looked like a Klingon... Oh, and I know why you couldn't track their electricity bill."

She arched an eyebrow at me. "Why?"

"Because they don't use electricity. The entire place is lit without electricity."

"Then what is it lit by?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know?! What do you mean – "

"It was just... lit. There weren't any candles, torches, magical fireflies. No light sources. It was just lit."

"You're kidding me."

"After everything I've told you, I would kid about that?"

"Good point."

"However weird, though," I said thoughtfully, "it doesn't seem like an exceptionally dangerous place. I mean, there was none of that drunken revelry that you would typically associate with a bar. It was more like an old-fashioned tavern."

"Just because the Gotham branch is like that doesn't mean that the LA branch is going to be that nice. We don't even know for sure if they're branches. It may just be coincidence."

"Right. I do think, though, that we ought to have Tim go in tomorrow night as Draper and case it out again. Make Cassie backup. If the one in LA and the one here are somehow connected, we want to find out."

"Okay. Now, you'll probably want to know the details of what's going down tomorrow." She turned to a stack of papers on her desk.

"Bruce didn't go as Bruce, did he?"

"Nope. He went as a 'Richard Drake.'" She looked up at my snort of disbelief. "I know, so much for not having a paternal disposition, eh? Anyway, he's supposed to be a lawyer based at headquarters and his cover story is he's in LA to help with the annual audit. He's staying at the Hyatt hotel in Westwood, Room 314. I've booked you a room there too, Room 271."

"Who am I going as?"

"Robbie. Here's the location of Photon's Crossing, the picture of Jenkins, and all the other info on what Bruce is casing out." She handed me a file. "You can read that on the plane or during your down time in the hotel. Now," she wheeled away from the computer, "it's 3.00 a.m. and you have an 8.20 flight from Gotham Airport, so I suggest you get some shut-eye."

The airport was an easy 15 minutes from Babs' place and I made it on my 8.20 flight with time to spare. Incredibly. I digested the file while on the plane. There wasn't much to digest. There was very little on the case proper. There was little information to be had, and, considering the place I had cased out yesterday, it was somewhat understandable.

I tried to clear my mind of all speculations as I leaned back in my seat. Bruce had always taught us that you could never go into a case with assumptions and expect the case to turn out well. But it was hard not to speculate about a place like Photon's Crossing. It was quite easily one of the oddest places I had ever gone. It was like I had stepped off the planet and fell into the rabbit hole. Except this rabbit hole was filled with sci-fi movie rejects. And somehow, a well-paid executive at a firm had gotten mixed up with this crowd. Oh man, this was going to be an interesting case.

I woke up as the plane was taxiing to the gate. I got up and stretched, feeling my joints pop. Man, I was getting old for this. What did that make Bruce? Prehistoric. I quietly snickered to myself and wondered, not for the first time, if he could read minds. The ride to the hotel was relatively quiet and uneventful and I checked in as Robbie Malone.

After dumping my baggage on the floor, I flopped on the bed and flipped open my cell phone. I hit Speed Dial 2 and waited for the few minutes that it took to encrypt the signal.

"What is it?" the characteristic growl began without preamble.

"Good afternoon, Bats," I said cheerily. "Don't get your tights in a twist. Just wanted to drop in and say hi."

"You're calling on the encrypted line. What is it?"

"Figured I'd notify you that I'm going to be your backup for to-night."

"No."

I groaned inwardly. Why did he have to be so anal? "It's not a question, Bruce. It's a statement."

"You are not going."

"Why, Bruce? Because it's too dangerous? All the more reason why I ought to go with you. You need someone to cover your six." I could tell from the sigh on the other end of the line that I was wearing down his defences. I held my tongue and waited patiently.

"Fine. Meet me on the corner of Main and First at 11 tonight. Follow me, _discreetly_, to the joint. Bring tools." He hung up.

"Sure," I said to the dial tone. I ended the call, then hit Speed Dial 1 and waited again as the encryption took place. I smiled at the curt "Oracle" that answered.

"Hey, beautiful."

"What's up, Former Boy Wonder?"

"Just wanted to let you know that I got here in one piece and checked in okay."

"I know."

"Right, all-seeing Oracle and all."

"Yup."

"I'm also going to be casing out the joint tonight with Bruce."

"Uh... does he know this?"

"Yeah. In fact, he gave me permission."

"How in the world did you do that?"

"That is the trademark Grayson secret, my dear."

"Could you use that trademark Grayson secret to get me that Tiffany pendant necklace I've been eyeing for so long?"

"Y'know, if you were Selina, it would be a lot easier to extort that out of Bruce."

Barbara laughed. "If you weren't right, I'd hurt you for that." A sudden beeping in the background interrupted her. "Oh shoot. Look, Dinah's in the Middle East right now, so I've got to go fish her out of hot oil."

"Sure thing, babe. Take care."

"Talk to you later, Short Pants."

I flopped back on the bed after hanging up. I looked at my watch. 3.20. I still had just over seven hours to kill. Getting up, I dialled room service. "Hey, yeah, could you direct me to the nearest car rental?"

The unlit cigarette hung loosely from my lips as I sauntered down Main, my cap pulled down tight over my head so as to hide my face. Glancing up ahead, I saw the distinct profile of Matches, leaning against a street lamp, casually flicking one of his characteristic matches up in the air. A hundred metres down from where he was, I leaned against a dingy brick wall, letting the shadows envelop me. At the appointed hour, Matches heaved his huge frame up and started to walk. I waited a moment or two, then began following him.

It took 15 minutes of weaving through alleys and slinking along ill-lit walkways to reach the entrance to Photon's Crossing. I waited 10 minutes before following Bruce into the tavern. It looked exactly like the Photon's Crossing I had cased last night. The same interior, many of the same people, the same freaky lighting.

Except tonight, the building was trembling uncontrollably. All the glasses were rattling and the tables kept on dancing across the hardwood floor. Just as I stepped up to the bar, I heard what sounded like an enormous "Ah... aah..." All the patrons grabbed onto an attached surface and, although I had no idea what was going on, I followed suit. A resounding "Choo!" echoed through the building and a strong gust of wind whipped through the room, causing tables and chairs to topple over. I grabbed onto my cap as it was blown from my head, feeling the cigarette get ripped from my mouth, and held on for dear life as the wind lifted me off my feet.

As abruptly as the entire situation started, it ended. People picked themselves off the floor and began righting tables and chairs. Louis grabbed a mop and started mopping up spilled ale and other alcoholic drinks. He stopped, however, when something on the floor started boiling. "Samm," he called, "don't let the Fire Whiskey and the Oil of Burenbury mix. They start burning." Just as he finished speaking, a wisp of smoke started curling up from the floor.

A string of words that sounded remarkably like curses in Greek came from the massive woman behind the counter. She bent down and came back up with a large bucket of foam and dumped it on the now smoking puddle on the floor. The puddle went out with a hiss and Louis went back to mopping.

The woman leaned her head in her hands and sighed. "Where the hell is Tallamyn when you need him?" she mumbled, presumably to herself. Standing up, she noticed me and said, "Welcome to Photon's. What'll you have, stranger?" I managed to prevent myself from gaping. This woman was huge. She easily matched Bruce's height and build. Not to mention that you could see every well defined muscle in her torso because she wore so little. I cleared my throat and managed to grind out, "Tankard of ale, if you will."

I tossed down a five for the tankard she poured me and was about to get up when she asked, "You have any gold, stranger?"

I looked at her oddly. "Gold?"

"Yes, gold. As in gold pieces."

"No."

"All right. That's fine then." She turned back to wiping the counter.

I got up and moved to the booth in the corner that Matches was occupying. He sat in the shadows, looking calm despite the fact that the table was vibrating, nursing a tankard that looked remarkably like mine. "Heya, Pop," I said, sliding into the seat opposite his. "How ya been?" We sat together in the shadows, observing people milling around us, listening in to conversations, seeing if any mention of Elizabeth would come up.

We never expected to see Alvin Draper wander in. I heard a muttered "What the hell?" come from Matches as I got up and made my way over to the seat that Al had planted himself on.

"Hey cuz," I said, clapping my hand on his shoulder. To his credit, Tim didn't even flinch when he turned around and saw me.

"Yo, what's up?" he said, letting me lead him to the booth. We both lurched as a strong shudder ran through the building. "How's the old man?"

"The old man is fine," came Matches' gravely voice from the corner of the booth. "Not quite fossilized yet. What are you doing here, Al?" he asked as we slid into the side opposite his. "I thought I tolds youse to stay in Gotham and outta trouble."

"This is Gotham. I thought you were in LA!" Tim exclaimed.

Matches raised an eyebrow at this. "We'll talk about this later."

Just then, another violent sneeze ripped through the building, startling all of us. I caught onto Al's wrist as he started to fly by me, but couldn't avoid the tankard that sloshed me full in the face. The trembling became more violent after this sneeze and I grabbed onto Matches' glass before it tap danced its way onto the floor while trying to clean my face of the ale.

"What the hell is going on?" I muttered as I made my way to the counter to ask for a cloth. Anne was tending the bar now while Samm righted an immense keg, full of some sort of liquid. "Hey, Anne, right? Could I have a rag or something? I got kinda wet after that last blast." I picked at the shirt that was now sticking to me. She disappeared behind the counter and popped back up after a moment with a cloth. I smiled my thanks and turned to head back towards the booth, wiping off my face as I went.

"Yo bro, you're gonna wanna watch out with that grin of yours," Al laughed as I slid back into the seat.

"Whatcha mean?"

"You've got that girl back there turning several different shades of red, one of which matches the hair colour of the guy glaring at you right now."

"Oh brother..."

The night was fairly uneventful after that, despite the few sneezes that rocked through the building. Most people seemed to tire of the perpetual temblors and wandered out before closing time. The stakeout itself was a flop; we learned nothing about Elizabeth.

We were heading out at closing time when we were suddenly stopped by two very solidly planted feet.

"All right, who are you and what are you doing here?" growled Samm. I suddenly discovered that she could rival Batman in terms of sheer intimidation.

"Whaddya mean?" Matches asked casually.

"I mean you three have been huddling in my most poorly lit booth all night, dealing with this stupid sick building, and muttering to each other. That means you're either planning a murder or trying to find someone. Which one is it?"

"Miss, I have no idea whats youse talking about." Matches tried to sidestep her. "Now, if youse excuse us..."

Bad move. Samm whipped out an arm and grabbed Matches' shoulder. "You will not be leaving until I have an answer."

To any casual observer, Matches would have looked somewhat annoyed at this unforeseen impediment. Having known Bruce for so long, however, I could also see the surprise in his eyes at being defied by this woman. And apparently, her grip didn't just look strong either.

Matches shifted his shoulders a little, usually just enough to get the other person to let go. That didn't work quite so well here. Samm reached out, grabbed his other shoulder, and in an unfamiliar move, tossed him to the floor. "You," she growled, "are not leaving until I have some answers. And if I'm not happy with those answers, you aren't leaving even then." She glared at us for good measure. Man, she could give Bats a run for his money with a voice and a Look like that.

Tim and I looked at each other as Bruce picked himself up off the floor. This was going to get sticky. I was pretty sure that if the three of us rushed her all at once, we would manage to get by, but then that would blow our stakeout. And ensure that we wouldn't be able to get any information. On the other hand, if we gave them answers to their questions, it would blow our cover, but we might get answers. And either way Bats was going to kill something.

I stepped forward, but quickly backed up when Samm made a move toward me. I did not want to get tossed on the floor if I didn't have to. "My name is Robbie Malone. This," gesturing to Tim, "is my cousin Alvin Draper and that," pointing at Bruce, who was very busy glaring at me, "is our boss, Richard Drake. We're part of an investigative firm and we were hired to find out the whereabouts of Miss Elizabeth Jenkins. We managed to track her to your tavern and spent tonight here in hopes that we could find information about her."

Samm nodded. "I see," she said very slowly. I silently hoped that she would buy our story. "And why were you hired to find Elizabeth?"

"She disappeared about a month ago from Los Angeles and the company she worked for was concerned about her." I paused for a moment. "Do you have any information on her or her whereabouts?"

Samm looked me straight in the eye. "As a matter of fact, I have her. Anne," she said without turning around, "can you go upstairs and see if Elizabeth is feeling up to coming down?" I watched as Anne scampered up the steps, then turned around to see Louis' angry face behind Samm. Oh crap.

It was then that the building chose to sneeze again, sending all of us topping like ten-pins. I heard a cry and looked up in time to see Anne sailing through the air. Cover or no cover, she was going to make a pretty bad dent in the wall when she impacted with it. I leapt up just as Louis cried, "Anne!" and using a tabletop as a spring, launched myself into a series of somersaults that placed me directly in the line of impact. The breath whooshed out of me as I connected with the wall and Anne connected with me. I winced as I felt one of my ribs crack. Man, this was going to suck.

I managed to catch Anne as we landed on the floor. Helping her to her feet, I looked up and saw Bruce doing much the same with Elizabeth. I let Louis steer Anne away from me and wandered over to stand by Bruce just in time to hear Samm mutter, "This is bloody ridiculous."

Just then, there was a knock at the door. "Finally!" Samm stalked over to the door and threw it open. In tottered a little old man in a tattered blue robe. He blinked, somewhat owlishly, at Samm.

"So, what seems to be the problem?" he asked, somehow completely ignoring the fact that he was bouncing up and down due to the vibrations in the building.

"Your ingenious cousin," Samm spat, "decided that he wasn't happy with Photon's and gave the building sick building syndrome!" Her voice had progressively risen through the sentence and by the end, she was shouting at the little man in the robe.

The little man shrugged. "I'm sorry, Samm," he said, "but this is Rollamyn's spell, and I'm really not supposed to – " He was cut off by Samm grabbing the front of his robe and lifting him so that the tips of his pointed shoes just dangled off the floor.

She placed her face close to his. "Tallamyn," she growled, "I don't give a damn about your stupid wizarding laws. You. Will. Remove. This. Spell."

I glanced over at Bruce watching this entire exchange and realized that we were both thinking the same thing. Damn, she could give Bats more than just a run for his money. I turned back when I heard Tallamyn squawk and saw his face turning an interesting shade of purple. I was about to step forward when he started gesturing and speaking quickly. The building stopped trembling and I swear I heard it sigh in relief.

Tallamyn was still dangling off the floor. He glared at Samm until she let him go, none too gently. He landed on the floor with an undignified "thump" and in an equally undignified pile of blue robes. He righted the tall pointed hat on his head and, still sitting on the floor, glared up at Samm. "Happy now?" he groused.

"Yes." Samm handed him a small leather bag. "You can have drinks on the house tomorrow night."

The old man shuffled out with as much dignity as his skewed robes and hat would allow, and Samm turned back to us. "Now that that fun is over," she said, wiping her hands off on her apron, "do you care to explain exactly why you are looking for Elizabeth?"

The lot of us sat down at a large table and Bruce, Tim and I started explaining our cover story. Samm seemed satisfied with it when we finished. "So," she said, as she got up from the table, "as you can see, Elizabeth is safe and sound and really quite happy here, so your jobs are done."

Bruce remained seated. "If you don't mind," he said, "we've got some questions for you, too."

"All right." Samm sat back down. "What sorts of questions?

And that was the end of the case. We had the entire interdimensional tavern thing explained to us, which is why we could meet Tim there as Al despite being a country away. The entire gold thing made sense, especially when Samm told us that the Oroids from Andromeda used to pay in green slimy slugs. Ugh.

As for the sick building syndrome business, well, it turns out that the wizard Rollamyn, who was Tallamyn's cousin, had a few too many drinks and was getting disruptive. Samm tossed him out (and here, I'm assuming literally) after he refused to leave, but before she managed to get him out the door, he cast a spell that made the entire building ill. Literally, the building. Which was why we were being blown away by massive sneezes.

I'm not a regular at Photon's, but I do stop by every once in a while to check up on things and order a tankard of ale, which is really quite good. Babs had a hard time believing my story until I had it confirmed by Bruce. Everything, more or less, went back to normal. Well, as normal as being a Bat kid could be. Or living in Photon's, for that matter.

Babs and I went on a date a few weeks after the end of the case, and we ended up at Photon's. I figured she would never believe me unless I took her there. Samm gave us a nice, secluded booth, a good distance away from the three-headed cat in the corner and told Anne to throw in a romantic ballad every once in a while to her repertoire of songs. I gave Babs the Tiffany pendant that she had been eyeing as a gift, much to her surprise. It's always good when you can surprise the Oracle, despite having to buy it from a dealer in LA and paying for it in cash withdrawn from a secret account.

All in all, I would say that this case had a satisfactory ending. And now, I can really say I've seen almost everything out of this world.

© starrywave


End file.
